


Post Tenebras Lux

by ChecktheHolonet



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Feathers & Featherplay, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Restraints, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sensation Play, Smut, Soft Ben Solo, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChecktheHolonet/pseuds/ChecktheHolonet
Summary: Post Tenebras Lux.Latin: "after darkness, light."Rey has come to play, but she never knows the exact rules until she arrives. How far he’ll push her. How far she’ll let herself be pushed.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 22
Kudos: 104





	Post Tenebras Lux

**Author's Note:**

> TW: This fic contains elements of a safe and consensual BDSM relationship, including light bondage, spanking, dirty talk, and orgasm delay/denial. Since this is fiction, please assume that Ben and Rey have already had a discussion of limits, safe words, and what each of them expects out of the dynamic. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Sometimes a girl's gotta spread her...uh...wings, and write in a new style. This is way outside my comfort zone, but I'm hoping you like it.

Rey claims she hates the dark. Hates the teasing play of shadow, hates when sight is stolen from her, when she can no longer read the words hidden in another’s eyes. She hates the unknown, the undefined factor in life’s equation, scavenging in darkness for what little scraps she can find.

It's this hatred of the uncontrolled, the uncertain, that leads her to where she is now, standing outside a sleek building uptown where inside, her partner waits for her. It’s a unique arrangement, their pact of trust sealed with lust and devotion. It had started like any other standard relationship, but as time had progressed and the intimacy between them had bloomed, it had grown into…something different. Something more. 

She’d learned to trust him, to place her faith in his capable hands, in his ability to give her what her mind and body so desperately craved. In return, he took away her uncertainty, her anxiety, allowing her to surrender herself completely, to be vulnerable and open without fear.

Earlier, he’d sent for her with a crisp white card, her name written in painstakingly crafted script, a prelude to an evening of erotic theater for two, explored on a stage all their own.

His condo is quiet and dark when she walks in the door, her feet echoing across hardwood floors, stout tapered candles scattered amongst mirrors and thick curtains of heavy cloth. He is fond of ceremony, of ritual, and when the scent of jasmine hits her nose, she is instantly alert, on edge.

“Stay where you are.”

The voice is sharp, sudden, and despite the fact she has been in this house hundreds, thousands of times, she jumps. Freezes. A second later, she turns her head blindly in the half-lit room.

“It’s been a while, sweetheart…hasn’t it?”

That voice. Overtly sexual. Predatory. Knowing. Rey has come to play, but she never knows the exact rules until she arrives. How far he’ll push her. How far she’ll let herself be pushed. He’d never disrespected her limits, not once, but there’s a perverse thrill in knowing that if he wanted to, he could. Drawing herself up just a little taller, she squared her gaze with his.

Swallowing once, she murmurs, “yeah.”

She can almost see him nod from across the room, her slowly adjusting eyes picking up his powerful silhouette. He’s sprawled on the couch, feet wide apart, arms resting at his sides. Every so often a candle dances in just the right manner to send a flicker of light into amber eyes. Rey’s heart beats a staccato rhythm, knowing exactly what hides in their murky depths.

“Did you miss me?”

She shivers, hands trembling, lust rising slow and steady from the base of her feet to the crown of her head. She nods, intoxicated by his slowly drawled words.

“You haven’t come in—how long has it been? Two weeks? Three? I’ll bet you can practically taste it. I’ll bet you’re aching. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Rey freezes, stands absolutely still.

_Silence._

The room’s tension escalates as Rey shifts from one foot to the other, her hands neatly folded in front of her as she averts her eyes from his. He’d been away for three long weeks, and while Rey had more patience than most, her body had demanded release—a release she had ultimately stolen herself, one aching night in her lonely bed.

Ben’s gaze hardens when he realizes exactly what Rey’s non-response means.

“When?” he says sharply. “Tell me when.”

It’s ridiculous, utterly ludicrous, but Rey feels a thin sliver of fear working under her skin, a splinter of trepidation causing her to cast her eyes downward, away from the intense heat of Ben’s stare.

“Who?”

When she looks up again, he stands right in front of her, eyes wide and accusatory, jaw set in a tight, narrow line.

“No one,” she responds quickly. “It’s not…I didn’t mean…there was no one,” she falters, and hopes it will be enough.

It isn’t.

Ben relaxes, just a little, at her unspoken omission, but refuses to give in easily. Lazily, he brushes a finger over the column of her throat, leaning in to follow it with his lips. She shivers. A moment later, he speaks, his voice low and coaxing, deceptively mild:

“What then? Tell me what.”

She feels embarrassment licking at her cheeks; he won’t relent until she says the words he knows she’s hiding. In that instant, she wants to flee, to turn around and run out of his place with its moody lighting and enticing scent and predatory master, but the prospect of pleasure, of pleasing that very man is too strong to resist.

“I…I mean…” she swallows, face burning red, “I touched myself,” she whispers softly. “I…couldn’t help it…”

Pulling back, Ben stares at her, a long, searching look. Calculating. Discerning. A moment later, points to the bedroom.

Rey glances at the door, glances at Ben. She pauses, just long enough to feel goosebumps rush over her arms in waves, and walks down the hallway, knowing he’ll follow, releasing herself to the game. Drawing a deep breath, she climbs gingerly on to the bed with its elegant, sinfully soft sheets, and waits.

They stare at each other, chess masters across an endless board of not-black, not-white, each waiting for the other to move. The clock in the corner ticks away a steady cadence of time, until at last, Ben speaks.

“How many times, sweetheart?”

The question is dangerous, subtle on the surface but laced with implications that make her face burn and her pussy throb. After all this time, she still isn’t used to this, releasing the steering wheel, careening toward a cliff with accelerator floored and eyes wide open.

“How many times did you take your pleasure without my permission? Once? Twice? More?”

“T…twice…” she whispers, barely able to speak. She loathes and loves this, the overwhelming feeling of vulnerability.

“Twice, hmmm?” Ben says, approaching slowly, stroking a calloused finger down the valley between her breasts, over the silky fabric of her shirt: a deep, crimson red, just as he’d requested. He appears to be digesting the answer, but Rey knows better. Knows what’s coming.

“What’s the rule, sweetheart?” he says quietly, leaning forward, staring intently into her eyes. He’s close enough for her to count the moles on his cheeks, to see the thin scar that nicks his face. It’s unbearably intimate, more so when she realizes he fully expects an answer.

“Ben…” she says weakly, cheeks flaring a brighter red, blood pounding relentlessly in her ears.

“Rey,” Ben says, voice sharp, bidding no argument. “What. Is. The. Rule?”

She swallows once, shivering, then whispers meekly, “no touching myself unless you say.”

“That’s right.”

Rey swallows a breath, clenches her fingers, and whispers, “I’m sorry…”

A warm, wet kiss is her reward. His tongue delves deep, fingers skirting around her ribcage, curling forward to stroke at nipples already taut. The touch makes her feel dazed, and just before the blindfold is placed over her eyes, Rey hears him say, “sorry? No. I don’t think you are. Not yet…”

Minutes pass in a sensual haze. Strong hands spread her legs, fastening her ankles to the bed. Supple lips press kisses to the insides of her wrists before they too are wrapped in sturdy leather and attached to the wrought-iron headboard. She feels dizzy, off-kilter, drunk on anticipation, shaky with nerves. She can hear Ben removing his clothing, feel the heat of that steely-eyed stare as it sears her skin.

“So you broke the rules, hmmm?” Dangerous voice, low and predatory, as he watches her shrewdly. Despite her blindfold, she can see it crystal-clear, that fox-sharp look of capture-before-kill.

“I thought I taught you patience, sweetheart,” Ben chides. His hands drift over her thighs lightly as he continues, “How to wait. How to savor things. How your pleasure belongs to me, not to you. Clearly, we need another lesson. You’ll listen. You will learn. Won’t you?”

She tries to speak, but the desert is in her mouth, and her heart remains lodged in her throat. Before she can formulate a response, he lightly slaps her thigh, the touch registering just shy of pain before melting into thick, unrestrained pleasure.

“Yes!” she croaks, answering quickly as another blow falls. This time, he swipes a finger along her swollen slit, making her breath catch in her throat. He teases her lazily, circling her clit with the barest pressure before pulling away. His eyes fill with satisfaction as she strains her hips toward his touch, but he simply waits her out. “Ben,” she pleads, “I will! I’ll learn!”

“Good,” Ben smiles, all dark eyes and thinly veiled intentions. “You’ll be fun to teach.”

**

The first touches are hesitant, barely there, a single downy feather skirting her collarbone, teasing the soft underside of her neck, testing her swollen lips. Her body wants to register the touch as irritation: ticklish, not as pleasure. She wriggles out of the way, moving in the confines of the restraints to avoid the sensation, breath coming quickly as Ben continues to stimulate sensitive skin.

“Relax, baby…relax,” he murmurs. His voice is hypnotic, spiked with a healthy shot of amusement. She resents the humor in his tone, but knows better than to voice her frustrations.

“Tickles,” she speaks through gritted teeth, stifling a moan when the feather skates lower.

“Not if you relax…come on…relax…”

She’s trying; trying so hard, but when the sensation moves lower, she protests, bucking when the feather skirts along the curve of her abdomen, following the twin hollows just inside her hips. For a long, intense moment, there is nothing, but then…

“God!” she cries out when the tip of the feather slides over her clit, tapping in a maddening, inconsistent rhythm. Ben presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, murmuring into her lips:

“Take it, sweetheart…relax and take it…that’s it…” He dusts his mouth lightly against hers, but then kisses her more forcefully, swallowing her desperate moan as he reaches up to tweak a distended nipple.

Her nerves are snapping, control unwinding like a thick, rusty spring as the feather taunts, teases, sliding through the soaking hot mess she’s made. She pulls at her restraints, her effort having all the effect of an ant against a lion. He scrapes his teeth against her nipple, large hand cupping her breast possessively as his lips works against her skin.

“Oh…” she moans, past caring what she sounds like. Because her eyes are covered, she cannot see the wicked grin on Ben’s face a moment before his hot mouth lowers to her dripping cunt, lapping over the slick seam.

 _Hotwetslickslidingheat_ between her folds...  
Tongue sliding up to press against her clit, lips providing exquisite, unbearable suction…  
_Sohotsoclosemoremoremore_ …white noise through her muddled brain  
Orgasm _rightthererightthere_ and then…

Nothing.

“What?!” she gasps. She arches her back, hips pressing upward into empty air, fingers curling into fists. A chuckle, low and dirty, escapes Ben’s lips.

“I decide when you come, sweetheart,” Ben says, and the lust in his voice is not lost on either of them. “It’s not time yet.”

Bastard. Asshole. MotherfuckingCOCKSUCKER. She’s too keyed up, too tightly wound to do anything but shout angrily, bucking in her bonds, all thoughts of submission vaporizing like Ben’s touch. She wants to come; she’s played by his rules and she wants it now…

…except she’s tied to Ben’s bed, and all is quiet. If she didn’t know any better, she would swear Ben was laughing at her, silent grin branding her skin surely as the hottest caress.

**

The second set of touches are forceful. Strong hands knead her ass, swarming over too-hot skin, slipping along slender muscles, pinching nipples grown hot and tender with need, drawing pleasure through a thin film of pain.

She shifts, cries out, gasps when the thick palm of his hand connects with her upper thighs, moans when a volley of neatly-placed blows nearly take her breath away.

“You like this, don’t you? You’re wet, little one. Yes, you are. Show me how much you like this. Need this.”

Sometimes, she hates Ben for this, hates the way his simple words bend her body like a fallen reed, hates the way the circuit between pleasure and pain melts away to nothing at his capable hands. She IS wet. She is aching. Desperation, slow and poisonous, sinks below the surface of her skin, and as her first begging words ring out into the still, cool room, Ben smiles.

**

The third set of touches are overtly sexual, possessive. Lips on lips, on nipples, on the curve of a hip and the bend of a knee. She can smell lust, sweaty and untamed, permeating the air, and taste desire on the back of her tongue. She is frenzied, anxious, willing to obey. Like a focused arrow, she seeks completion, honing in on a target that remains just out of reach. When he leans in close, shadowing her with solid, heavy muscle, she can feel his cock, hard at her hip, leaking slowly as he rubs against her skin.

“You really want to touch yourself now, don’t you?” Ben’s tongue is below her ear, swirling along her pulse’s track. Teeth close around a fold of flesh, and Rey moans, pleasure/pain rattling her nerves, making her clit throb. She makes a high, plaintive sound, then immediately bites it back, clinging to her pride through the thinnest of margins.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Ben purrs, and with long fingers he twists a nipple, enjoying her cry of need. He has always loved her breasts, sending extravagant gifts of intricately crafted lingerie; naughty confections of gossamer-thin lace and silk so fine it was nearly transparent. She’d model them for him, watching as he’d watch her, his thick fingers working his throbbing cock until he’d drag her onto his lap, burying his face in her chest, sucking and licking until he’d roll her over and press inside, low, urgent moans echoing in the darkness.

“If I weren’t here,” he continues now, the tip of his finger trailing down, circling her belly button before sliding between her sticky thighs, “and you were all alone, what would you do? Hard and fast? Slow and sweet? How would you do it, sweetheart? Tell me…”

Rey licks her lips, breathing soft and shallow, hands moving restlessly against the scant surface of bed she can reach. She says nothing.

“Tell me. Please, Rey,” Ben urges, the first cracks in his façade beginning to show. He presses further, fingers drifting between her legs, stroking maddeningly slow. Rey keens, arches her back, tries to shove her hips onto his slowly moving hand, but a sharp slap to the inside of her thighs settles her.

“None of that. You know better,” Ben orders. Rey shifts her head restlessly side to side, groaning. Desire is a living, breathing force, feeding on the friction, the heat between her legs.

“Tell me, Rey. Tell me how you did it before, and maybe I’ll let you come now.”

She bites her lips, closes her eyes behind the blindfold, but Ben continues to speak.

“Were you alone? Hmmmm? Were you by yourself? No one around? Did you play with your pretty little pussy when you were all alone?”

Ben’s fingers drift back to her nipples, plucking at the nubs of flesh, scratching one nail along the satiny surface. She stifles a cry, bites her lip. Sweat begins to run in a thin river down the side of her neck.

“What did you do, hmmm? Did you sink those fingers inside, wishing it was my cock? I bet that felt good, didn’t it? Naughty girl, not allowed to come, not supposed to touch, playing with herself with the lights out…but you did, didn’t you?”

She nods weakly, moans when Ben rubs a thumb swiftly over her clit, bringing her precariously close to orgasm.

“You’re close, aren’t you? Yeah, you are. Let’s see what I can do to help,” Ben whispers, and gently traces his fingernail around her swollen entrance. Grinning wickedly, he slowly slides the finger inside, searching lazily for that narrow ridge of raised tissue, stifling his own groan of pleasure when he finds it, when she tries to buck him off.

“Fuck! Ben, please…I can’t…” Rey cries, fingers curled into tight fists, chest heaving, every impulse and sensation centered around the feeling of him pressing inside.

“Yes, you can,” Ben coaxes gently, “and you will…” Slowly, steadily, he begins to move his hand; shallow, sharp movements. Enough to titillate, not enough to make her come. She sobs, the ache so acute, word fragments and curses tripping off her lips, juices beginning to drip down her thighs. Closer she dances to the edge of orgasm, mind melting from the dirty, filthy phrases Ben is breathing into her ear, from the sensory overload, from the relentless stimulation, body tightening, tightening, tightening…until…

Ben withdraws his fingers, removes his hand, and walks away, brushing a kiss over her lips, ignoring the moans of protest, the way her body clenches to keep him from leaving.

“Patience, sweet girl,” he murmurs softly when Rey wails in frustration, the first traces of a torrent of tears soaking through the blindfold. “It’s not time yet.”

She blinks her eyes, tries to stop the tears from falling. Desperately she clings to the nexus of pleasure, crying out when it wilts…fades…and she is alone.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes later, Ben returns. Rey turns her head at the soft sound of footsteps. She is exhausted, bathed in sweat, hair disheveled, lips swollen and kiss-bruised. Still, a hopeful grin lights the corners of her mouth as he draws closer. Ben smiles as pride for her endurance, her willingness to surrender to him fully, pulls powerfully at his chest.

“You’ve been so good, gorgeous girl,” he murmurs, even as she arches her back, offering her open mouth, sighing as he aligns her body all along his, “you ready for me?”

Before she can form the word yes, he’s pressing inside, powerful, rough strokes that steal the breath from her lungs, fucking her with a singular, focused intensity.

She moans on every exhale, no longer able to keep herself in check, and when his teeth close around her nipple, tugging with pin-sharp force, she is barely able to process his words:

“S’alright, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing the words onto her skin, “you can come now.”

When she does, it is exquisite, her cunt clamping down hard enough to make him gasp, to make him groan as he finds his own release. He collapses on top of her, murmuring soft words of praise, before carefully undoing the bindings on her wrists, rubbing at them gently, watching the skin turn a soft pink. He draws her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest, cooing softly as she slowly comes back to herself. He’s tender, now. Endlessly affectionate, unabashedly sweet, no longer able to sustain the mask he wears when they’re at play.

“Good girl,” he breathes, dotting careless kisses over her mouth, her throat, her nipple. “I’ve missed you.”

Rey sighs, contentment suffusing her limbs as she burrows in his embrace.

“I’ll try not to be away so long next time,” Ben murmurs. He presses his mouth to her shoulder. A moment later, he sits up, grabbing a bottle of water from the nightstand.

“Drink,” he orders, and when she starts to decline, he presses the bottle into her hand. “Please. You probably wore out your voice a little. C’mon. Rest a bit. You hungry?”

She shakes her head, the pull to sleep growing stronger by the second. She takes a few soothing gulps of blessedly cool water, blissful on her parched throat.

He nods in approval, encouraging her to drink a little more. _I hate it when he’s right_ , she thinks, not without affection.

“Lay down, sweetheart. You did so well. So good for me,” he whispers, tugging her gently back down to the bed, guiding her head against the broad plane of his chest. Her eyes flutter closed at the soothing tone of his voice, consciousness slipping pleasantly away as his lips brush her neck and his heartbeat’s cadence lulls her to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Twitter (18+ only please/no minors)! @ChecktheH


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